


Exercises in Team Bonding

by orphan_account



Category: Prince of Tennis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-21
Updated: 2008-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-13 02:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Niou and Yagyuu have a plot to hurt Sanada, and all does not go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exercises in Team Bonding

“I think you’d look good with highlights,” Yagyuu said, at half-past five on Sunday when Yukimura had finally capitulated to summer UV radiation and the limits of human physiology. Marui was flushed and sunburnt like an overgrown red and yellow beach ball, while Kirihara lay sprawled at the baseline, diaphragm expanding and contracting as he struggled for air.

Sanada, his breathing regular and deep as if he’d just walked out of meditation class, glanced over at Yagyuu and said: “Niou, Yagyuu, fifty laps around the courts.”

“I will have you know that had nothing to do with me,” Niou said, nascent snarl in his voice and a dangerous look in his eyes, insofar as the facial expressions of a rubbery adolescent tennis player lying prostrate on the ground, damp silver hair stuck to forehead and cheekbones, could be deciphered. It was generally agreed among the Rikkai regulars that after-practice time on weekends was a losing war with gravity - by the time Jackal’s legs gave way, you ought to have surrendered long ago. Kirihara sometimes entertained thoughts of trying to keep up with Sanada, but as Marui pointed out, surviving junior high took priority, and the task of gradually destroying your bodily functions by exertion could wait for a time when the ownership of heart and lungs and muscles were no longer enjoyable properties.

Marui was convinced that Sanada had neither human lungs, nor heart, nor sanity. Verification of the former had yet to be carried out; as for the latter two, it was evident to all and sundry that the onus lay in proving their existence, and until then, their vice-captain’s deficiency would be accepted as _a priori_ knowledge.

Had Sanada been possessed of eyelashes, he would not have batted them. “One hundred laps if you don’t get up immediately,” he said, and even amid glorious golden sunshine he emanated an aura of blackness and steel, and Yagyuu reluctantly stood up, followed by Niou, a second or two later, wobbling to his feet, and they proceeded to walk fifty laps around the courts while the rest of the team lay there and watched them and Sanada stood at the centerline, arms folded around his chest, a tall ominous figure against the pinks and blues and oranges that shifted and changed as the sky dipped into dusk.

#

  
“I am going to _asphyxiate_ him,” Niou said. He had been cutting out paper outlines of Sanada for the past twenty minutes; for some reason he couldn’t get the baseball cap right and depending on the angle of the scissors it seemed to resemble first a bowler hat, and then a pizza, and finally a deformed kiwifruit. “I am going to punch his face in, and then I am going to nail him to a wall like this” – he stabbed five pushpins into the arms, torso and neck of Paper Sanada Version #05 – “and then while he’s still alive, we are going to take him to a meat-grinder and put his legs through it.”

“You’re putting holes in my desk,” Yagyuu said, carefully taking the pushpins out of Niou’s reach and thinking of how to defuse Niou’s plans without getting caught up in them himself – and the thought of Sanada’s body fresh from the abattoir, muscles sliced into red messy pieces and bone and cartilage all mangled together, _was_ dreadfully tempting. “Yukimura will hurt us if we put Sanada out of commission before Nationals, you know.”

Niou took the scissors and began systematically removing the limbs from Sanada Version #04. “There must a way to make him experience intense, prolonged suffering without affecting his tennis,” he mused, staring at the paperclips at the back of the desk with an expression Yagyuu did not particularly like. There were far too many side-effects, he thought, of having a best friend whose creativity could generate havoc out of _anything_ \- although the benefits were just as substantial and occasionally long-lasting.

Yagyuu ventured to suggest that Yukimura and Kirihara, between them, generated much agony of that kind in Sanada.

“Rejected,” Niou said. “I’m not into that sort of suffering which produces character and emotional maturity. Besides, I want Sanada to know it’s _me_ who’s making him suffer, without being able to retaliate. I want to see him struggle,” – his gaze was manic and slightly unfocused – “like a live butterfly trapped in a collector’s display case.”

And he took the point of the scissors and tore through the belly-button of Paper Sanada #07.

Yagyuu noted the little bits of paper fluttering to the ground and _creating a mess_ , much to his distress – it was completely unfortunate that Niou's perfectionism did not extend to neatness – and quietly (not that it would escape Niou's notice) removed the stack of untouched foolscap paper from the desk, eight mutilated Sanadas in one evening surely being more than enough for anyone's bloodthirst. Well, it could hardly be expected to satisfy Kirihara, but there were mitigating circumstances there.

Niou and Yagyuu had shared an occasional telepathic connection ever since Yukimura's collapse, which had created an evolutionary impetus among the tennis regulars to either develop Superhuman Powers, or be removed from the gene pool by Sanada and Yanagi. It was a useful ability about five percent of the time, and an absolute disaster for the other ninety-five, since numerous thoughts in Yagyuu's head seemed to make Niou look up with an unholy gleam in his eyes, the way he was doing now.

“Kirihara. He'd help.”

Yagyuu could almost see the blood pouring across the tennis courts. This would almost be a pleasant thing, except that he had an inkling that a significant amount of it was his own.

“I rather think he would,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “Therein lies the problem, you see.”

“Well no, I don't see,” said Niou, scrunching up Paper Sanadas #3, #5 and #8 into a little ball. “Or rather, I do see, but I don't see that it's a problem.”

Yagyuu really wanted to survive junior high. If he could survive junior high with his stellar academic record, his unimpeachable social reputation, and his parents' illusions about their son intact, all the better.

He never should have joined the tennis club.

#

  
Niou was unhappy. It was his own fault though, so Yagyuu didn't plan on doing anything about it.

The problem had been catching Kirihara alone at a suitable moment. This turned out to be much more difficult than expected, for three major reasons; the first one being, much to Yagyuu's surprise, the discovery that the baby of their team actually had friends outside the tennis club. No one had the right to be that good at tennis and still have a life. Look at Sanada, for instance. In fact, the more one stalked Kirihara, the more one came to the conclusion that despite his apparently purposeless and haphazard way of living, he was a remarkably well-adjusted thirteen year old boy who related well to his teachers and peers. It wasn't fair. Yagyuu had to work so hard at it.

The second reason was that Kirihara wasn't quite stupid enough to not realise he was being stalked. Granted, neither Niou nor Yagyuu had gone to any length to hide their actions, since behaving suspiciously was quite normal (and expected) for them. But Yagyuu hadn't realised how careless they'd been until he was hiding in a tree next to the tennis courts, listening to Kirihara confide in a rosy-cheeked first-year.

“I think Niou-sempai's following me around.”

“Oh?” said the first-year, clearly at a loss for words.

“He was standing outside my English class during fourth period today. Niou-sempai takes Modern Japanese in fourth period. Modern Japanese is taught right at the other _end_ of campus.”

“Really? That sounds pretty strange.”

“Yesterday I had to wait three hours to get home so that I could pee, because Niou-sempai was watching me during practice and I was too scared to go to the bathroom by myself. It's awful,” concluded Kirihara with certainty. “And it's not just him. I think it's Yagyuu-sempai too. Only when it's Yagyuu-sempai I'm not sure whether it's Niou-sempai or Yagyuu-sempai. Or vice versa. Did that make grammatical sense?”

“You should get Yanagi-sempai to do something about it,” said the first-year. “He's good friends with Niou-sempai, isn't he?”

It was a good thing that Yagyuu had total, iron-fist control over his entire body, because he'd been in serious danger of falling out of the tree at this point. Or at the very least, rattling a few branches and sending a shower of leaves down on Kirihara and the first year. He couldn't think of a faster way to destroy The Plan than to allow Yanagi Renji to find out about it.

He'd been about to tell Niou to give up on finding accomplices, that they would do it the D1 way, one for two and two for one, and what could Kirihara possibly contribute to their plan anyhow, when it turned out that Niou had taken things into his own hands,and slipped Kirhara a note during practice.

 _We are plotting to destroy Sanada. Please meet us at the yakiniku place when practice is over. PS. BURN THIS NOTE._

Not the most elegant method, but for all intents and purposes, effective. At least, it'd seemed so until they turned up at the yakiniku joint and found _three_ tennis team members there.

Niou was making little snarling noises under his breath. Kirihara looked sheepish. “Well, I was going to burn the note, but I didn't have any matches, and Jackal-sempai had a lighter, and when I asked to borrow it he said why, and I, uhh, tried to lie?”

Which brought them to the third problem. Marui and Jackal. Because Jackal, at Sanada's behest, guarded Kirihara more carefully than an android bodyguard would, and as for Marui – well, Marui had two younger brothers. There was no way Jackal and Kirihara were capable of keeping a secret from him. .

“Okay,” Marui popped his gum. “So we're going to destroy Sanada. Question is, how?”

Niou's _puri_ sounds were quite audible now. Jackal looked about as pale as his natural complexion would allow, although Kirihara and Sanada were probably the only two people who could make him go positively ashen.

“I mean,” Marui said, “if this is going to be a complex kind of plan I think we should order food first, and then talk later.”

Niou's left hand edged towards his back pocket, where he always kept a nine-centimeter switchblade. Now Kirihara was looking worried.

Yagyuu sighed. “There's no help for it, Niou-kun. We started it, so we might as well work together.”

He was rewarded with three looks of gratitude. How gratifying. The gratitude would never translate into any physical benefit to Yagyuu, but so what? All part of being Niou's partner.

#

  
Niou's IQ was well over 140, which occasionally made things impossible to explain to him. He was also a genius at Concocting Evil Plans, provided that said Evil Plans did not involve more than one conspirator.

That wasn't quite accurate. Niou was quite good at devising plans involving any number of co-conspirators. They just all had to be Niou, that was all. Yagyuu had established himself as Niou's regular partner in crime by pretending, as far as was possible, to be Niou himself.

Yagyuu was very good at acting.

It was difficult getting Niou to understand that if Sanada caught Kirihara snooping around his locker and as a consequence locked Kirihara in the storage room, Kirihara would have no way of picking the lock and escaping. Or that Jackal could not be assigned to stealing the prized (and priceless) collection of calligraphy paintings in Sanada's home, simply because he _did not have the nerve_.

Once Niou was brought to comprehend these facts, which took half an hour and four helpings of yakiniku (six for Marui), his upper lip curled. “So. Are you actually good for anything?”

Marui chewed thoughtfully. “Well, if you found some way to tranquilize Sanada, tie him up, and gag and blindfold him, we'd all be happy to take turns mocking him. Ha ha, serves you right for all the pain you gave us this year, you know, things like that.”

Niou made a dismissive gesture with his fingers. “Yes, yes, that was what we invited Kirihara for. The idea was to tie Sanada up, strip him naked, draw Hello Kitty figures on his back in permanent marker, and then leave Kirihara to finish kicking him in the shins. That way when Sanada finally got loose, the first thing he took his anger out on would be the brat.”

“Hey!” Akaya protested.

“The two of you? Are completely useless, even as scapegoats. Yanagi will never believe that it's your fault.”

“Yes, you're quite right. What a predicament for you. I suppose we should do something to help.” Marui snapped his fingers. “I know! I could spray paint his _iaido_ mannequins. And Jackal will steal Sanada's baseball cap. That should be doable, right, Jackal?” Marui elbowed Jackal, who started.

“Ummm, right. Yes, okay.” The half-Brazilian's scalp seemed to be turning an unhealthy greenish colour.

“I'll help Marui,” Akaya said, clearly happy to be involved in anything that smacked of juvenile delinquency.

The conversation was going nowhere fast. Yagyuu could feel a headache coming on. Where was Yanagi-kun when one needed him? Fortunately, Niou leaned forward just then, with the intent look that indicated several thousand cogs had just turned in his brain – not visibly, of course; Niou's brain worked far too quickly to be seen thinking. “Okay. We have a plan. Listen up.”

#

  
In the end the plan did not involve Marui or Jackal doing anything useful, except for perhaps ruining Sanada's mood and adding to his suspicion and paranoia. Niou had left nothing to chance though, and had sent Yanagi a set of enigmatic mathematical puzzles in Inui Sadaharu's handwriting, ensuring that their team strategist would be thoroughly distracted for the day.

Of course, there was always the possibility that Sanada would realise what they were up to for himself, but it was rather unlikely. Sanada wasn't stupid; he was just so fundamentally incapable of underhandedness that it never ocurred to him to suspect it in other people. Therefore, when he asked Akaya at lunchtime whether he'd seen his baseball cap, and Akaya replied, “I didn't take it. I swear upon my Knuckle Serve,” it did not occur to Sanada to ask whether Akaya knew _who_ had taken the cap.

“Since when is his Knuckle Serve worth swearing upon?” hissed Niou. Yagyuu felt entitled to ignore the hiss, since it went without saying that Niou would be irritable until the actual execution of the plan.

“I brought the Valium,” he said, pulling two glass vials out of his pocket. Getting access to the medicines room had been alarmingly easy – a matter of striking up a conversation with the appropriate nurses.

Niou didn't say anything, just reached into his satchel and pulled out a dart gun. It was small and silver; almost a pistol. Yagyuu didn't ask where he'd obtained it. Niou also pulled out a hand-drawn map of the junior high school grounds.

“Let's review this. At four-thirty, Sanada is going to enter the calligraphy room to prepare for the upcoming school exhibit. Akaya is going to stall him at the door. At the same time, I will be waiting in the third science lab,” he pointed to a small rectangle adjacent to the red-inked X marking the calligraphy room, “here, with the tranquiliser. You and Marui will be standing around the corner, carrying the rope and the gag. Oh, and an appropriate hard object in case the Valium doesn't do enough to sedate him.”

“We can't give him a concussion before Nationals,” said Yagyuu, alarmed.

Niou shrugged.

Yagyuu's headache from yesterday was distinctly worse this morning. He thought he might be getting a fever as well; surely those were night sweats he'd been having in his sleep? Thinking about Niou's plans didn't usually get him this nervous.

On the other hand, Niou's plans did not usually involve a direct physical attack on Sanada Genichirou.

It did not do anything to make Yagyuu feel better when Kirihara appeared in their Maths class at the beginning of fourth period and handed him a baseball bat.

“I'm counting on you to _smash_ fukubuchou's skull,” he said, slouching against the wall and gripping the edge of Jackal's desk in what he obviously thought was a rebellious, delinquent pose.

Marui blew a raspberry at him. “Smash him yourself, brat.”

Jackal glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot. “Would you mind not talking so loudly? Someone might hear us.”

“Don't worry.” Marui interlaced his fingers and stretched his arms out above his head , yawning. “Yukimura isn't at school today, and everyone else I told about the plan is 100% behind it. Apparently the public morals committee's new demerits system is not going down well with the student body.” He gave Yagyuu a sidelong glance.

Yagyuu felt another surge of headache pass through his occiput. He closed his eyes, which only served to make the sound of Kirihara's fingers drumming against the wall seem louder. “...You've been telling people about the plan.”

“Well, yeah. I mean, we've got to make sure that everyone stays out of our way, right?”

“Wouldn’t spreading the rumour only encourage the presence of spectators?”

“No way!” Marui popped his gum. “Nobody wants to be around to watch. I mean, think about it. If you knew that somebody was about to attack Sanada and make him very very angry, would you want to be within a 5-km radius when it happened?”

“I am amazed,” said Yagyuu, “at how effectively you are highlighting our communal lack of intelligence as a team.”

Collective idiocy, Niou often described it as. Why Niou deigned to be part of and in fact devoted at least twenty hours of his week to aforementioned collective idiocy was a mystery not even Yagyuu knew the answer to. Perhaps Yukimura himself did not know.

Niou, somewhat to Yagyuu's relief, was ready and waiting for the other regulars when they gathered in the science lab at four-sixteen. One could never quite tell with Niou-kun. His plans were always perfect, but more than once he'd decided that perfect plans were boring and that playing with one's food was better fun. Or he'd get distracted by something, usually Yukimura or Yanagi, and decide that his current project was no longer necessary to his overall well-being, - which could be neatly expressed in an algebraic equation involving variables of change in entropy, quantity of new and amusing data gained, and psychological damage to the victim(s) - leaving Yagyuu to run damage control. Since Yagyuu achieved said damage control largely by blackening Niou's reputation while enhancing his own, there was little lasting damage done on either side. Still, he did resent the waste of his time.

Marui made some horrible noises with his lips and a wad of grape-flavoured gum. "Say Niou, are you sure about the baseball bat? I mean, if you miss we probably won't be able to get Sanada anyway. The brat's just about the only one with reflexes as good as his."

Yagyuu looked at Kirihara, who for his part did not seem enthralled by the prospect of physical combat with their vice-captain.

"The bat's only a backup in case the drug isn't strong enough. I won't miss." Niou's eyes had changed; everyone noticed it. It wasn't the Niou who addressed teachers with a scorching casualness borne more of indifference than deliberate insolence, who treated school, people and life as some peculiar game he was only half-interested in playing. This, surprisingly, was Niou for real.

But then again, Yagyuu thought, the Three always managed to evoke that reaction in Niou.

Marui, Yagyuu and Jackal left the other two in the lab, taking up position on the east side of the calligraphy room. Jackal was holding the baseball bat - he did not look happy about this - while Marui was using a broken plastic fork discarded from some student's lunchbox (despite there being a bin clearly in sight, and if Yagyuu ever found out who it was he or she was getting an instant demerit) to draw stick figures in what had formerly been a flower patch, but was now mostly a rectangle of sand and red soil, with the the occasional listless weed.

"What are you doing?" asked Jackal.

"Looking preoccupied." Marui didn't look up. "Won't we seem less suspicious that way?"

"We already look incredibly suspicious," said Jackal. "There's no way three normal students would be standing here after school like this. It's too close to the staffroom to be smoking weed in this place."

Yagyuu cleared his throat. "That's interesting, Jackal-kun. I hadn't realised that you thought about things like that."

"Well, ahh, you know - come on, Hiroshi, you know that's not what I meant!"

"Gentlemen." Marui drew an angry face in the sand. "I am trying to entertain myself, and you, are interfering with my self-entertainment. Jackal, why don't you play timekeeper and keep an eye out for Sanada?"

There was silence after that. Marui in a Niou-like mood was sometimes more frightening than the real thing.

They heard Sanada's footsteps, measured and deliberate, and Kirihara's voice, saying "Sanada-fukubuchou," at exactly the same moment: twenty-five minutes and six seconds past four according to Jackal's watch. Marui tossed away his broken fork and made towards the corner so as to peep around it; Yagyuu grabbed his sleeve before he could go any further. They'd agreed to remain well out of sight until Kirihara gave the signal.

"Akaya. Why are you still at school?" This was bad. Sanada sounded strained already, and they hadn't even done anything yet. "I thought Thursdays was your day for practising at the club."

But of course. Yukimura was at the hospital for physiotherapy today, which could account for at least two-thirds of Sanada's mood. The other one third - well, Kirihara was in the vicinity, wasn't he?

"It is, but Jackal-sempai couldn't make it today, and I didn't want to go by myself. The only people who play there in the afternoon are old men who can't even return a smash."

"Is that so? Then you should go back and finish your homework. We have early morning practice tomorrow."

 _He sounds so mothering_ , mouthed Marui.

Jackal rolled his eyes in a manner Yagyuu loosely interpreted to mean _it's Akaya, what do you expect_.

"I will, I will! I just wanted to ask you about my, uh, volleying. You know how Yanagi-sempai's always telling me to fix my net play - Sanada-fukubuchou, are you all right?"

That was the signal. They came out from behind the corner just as Niou emerged from the third science lab, wearing a smug expression.

Sanada was slumped against the door to the calligraphy room, head resting on his arm, which he'd put against the doorframe in order to steady himself. There was a little dart at the back of his left thigh, protruding through his school pants, and another one just above his right elbow.

Niou walked up, pushed Kirihara out of the way, and, using the blade of his hand, delivered a swift blow to the back of Sanada's neck. Sanada's body went limp; Niou caught him by the armpits as he was sagging towards the ground. "Brat. Yagyuu. Give a hand here, will you?"

Yagyuu moved to support Sanada's torso while Jackal and Kirihara grabbed a leg each. Marui opened the door to the calligraphy room, twirling the unneeded baseball bat as he did so.

It was dark inside. Yagyuu blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust, and then blinked again as Marui switched on the lights.

The calligraphy room was slightly smaller than an ordinary classroom, with four large square tables dominating the space. On the walls, interspersed between windows and the tall cupboards holding calligraphy supplies, hung the work of past students, as well as outstanding pieces from current ones. They dropped Sanada on the floor right in front of one of his own paintings, a scroll bearing the Fuurinkazan characters that had won a Kanagawa-wide competition some months back. Niou produced a handkerchief and two lengths of rope from somewhere on his person, handed Yagyuu a piece of rope and then turned to Marui, holding out the handkerchief.

Marui didn’t take it. “Say, Niou. Weren’t we meant to strip him first? And draw cartoons on him in permanent marker?”

Niou stared back at Marui for a second, and then, with an aggrieved expression, knelt down and began loosening Sanada’s tie. Yagyuu looked at the other three, whose eyes were wide and filled with trepidation and who were clearly not going to be of any help whatsoever, and then crouched down, himself, to begin unbuttoning Sanada’s shirt.

And felt a terrible pain shooting up his calf as a handgrip more akin to metal than flesh closed around his ankle.

He quickly looked at Sanada’s eyes, which were narrowed, _very_ awake, and dangerous.

“The baseball bat, quick!” hissed Niou, just as they heard the sound of the door opening.

“Good afternoon,” said Yukimura’s voice. “May I come in?”

#

  
“Next time you try to forge a letter from Sadaharu,” Yanagi was telling Niou, “you should make the mathematics a little easier. I was suspicious as soon as I saw the third problem; eigenfunctions are hardly Sadaharu’s forte.”

Marui placed his lips against Kirihara’s left ear and whispered loudly about Sanada having the metabolism of an elephant. “Maybe we should try chloroform next time.”

“Bunta,” Yukimura said, in the tone of someone talking to his baby cousin who has just spilled chocolate milkshake on the new Persian rug, “there will be no next time.”

Marui swallowed. Kirihara and Jackal looked at each other, and then at the door, which was open and less than a metre from when they were sitting.

It was a futile idea, of course. Even with his neurons eaten half to death by antibodies, Yukimura’s reaction time was ungodly.

“Fifty laps before school, every morning for two weeks. And doubled wrist weights for everyone.” Yukimura was standing with his back to a window, so that his face was in shadow as he faced the regulars. Normally he would have looked intimidating, but of late he had begun to look so thin and weary that any fear of the wrath of Seiichi was overlaid by concern for his health, psychological welfare and indeed whether he was about to collapse to the ground within the next ten minutes. “Has our training been so light that you have the time and inclination to play meaningless pranks on other members of the team?”

Yagyuu was beginning to feel a twinge of guilt. That wasn’t good. He looked at Niou, who was doodling ink circles on a sheet of rice paper. He reached out and pulled the brush out of Niou’s hand, just as Yanagi spoke:

“Please stop wasting school supplies, Masaharu.” But Yanagi wasn’t looking at Niou. He was watching Yukimura.

Actually, everyone was watching Yukimura, except for Niou, who, after five seconds of silence, stood up with a sneer. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice,” he said. He turned, took two steps in the direction of the exit, and then flew through the air, crashing against the wall in a heap of limbs and untidy white hair.

Sanada bowed to Yukimura. There was an patch of red surrounding his knuckles, where he’d just backhanded Niou’s face.

“Yukimura.” From the angle at which Yagyuu was sitting, Sanada seemed to loom over their captain, making the shorter boy seem even sicker and more diminutive than he was. A completely unprecedented occurrence. Sanada’s presence was undeniable; it had never, ever, been able to overshadow Yukimura’s presence. “This lapse of discipline is due to my failure to provide the team with appropriate leadership. I ask to take responsibility for the entire matter.”

The skin on Yukimura’s brow was pale and fragile, almost translucent; it looked even thinner when drawn together in a frown. “It’s not your fault, Genichirou. If we’re talking about leadership, then I…” He stopped. His hands were shaking.

Yagyuu, Jackal, and the two nurses who had been discreetly waiting in a corner all sprang to their feet, ready to rush to Yukimura’s assistance. But Sanada remained standing where he was, arms folded across his chest.

Renji spoke, voice carefully modulated, “This room belongs to the calligraphy club, and there was no tennis practice scheduled for today. Theoretically, the entire event lies outside our jurisdiction.”

Yukimura looked at Yanagi, and then at Sanada. Then he nodded. “You’re right. Team dismissed.”

Marui and Kirihara exchanged wondering looks, amazed that they were being let off so lightly, and then bounded out the doorway without giving the Triumvirate time to change their minds, Jackal one step behind them. Niou clambered to his feet, and was about to follow suit when Yukimura said, “Not you, Niou. Genichirou, I believe you wanted to take responsibility for this event?”

Niou glared at Sanada. Sanada glared back. Then they both nodded, and exited the room, Sanada leading the way.

“Yukimura-kun.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Hiroshi, I’m sure Niou can survive a few broken bones.” Yukimura sat down, his left hand holding on to a nearby chair for support.

“It’s not like you to be so indifferent.”

“It’s not like--” Yukimura looked at Yagyuu, who removed his glasses and began to polish them with a soft piece of cloth. It was a good excuse not to look at those grey eyes. “I think, someday, I will accept the fact that Niou does not care.”

The words sent a chill through Yagyuu’s body. He tried to focus his blurred vision on his glasses.

“But it's not in Genichirou's nature to give up. Are you like either of them, Hiroshi? I think not, so why do you persist in this dangerous behaviour?”

Yagyuu put his glasses on again, and met Yukimura’s gaze. “I'm not sure I understand what you are talking about, Yukimura-kun.”

“I rather think you do. Ah well, it’s beyond my jurisdiction, after all.” Yukimura stood up. “My physiotherapy was rescheduled for five-thirty; I should get going. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

He made his exit, nurses shadowing him on either side, and Yanagi discreetly following, leaving Yagyuu by himself, staring at the calligraphy room through clean, clear lenses.

#

  
If it were Sanada, if it were Yanagi, if it was Kirihara who’d been sitting there five minutes ago, Yukimura would never have left it at that. He would have pushed, worked his magic with smiles and souls and gentleness that somehow _changed_ people, left them feeling inside-out and upside-down and – stronger? Wiser? Better at tennis? Yagyuu did not have the words to describe Yukimura. Very few people did. Niou had been hunting for the right equation for years.

Niou did not like unsolved mysteries. Yukimura could not bear not understanding people. In many respects, they were the perfect match.

And yet...

A shadow fell across the doorway. Sanada and Niou were back, Niou carrying a stack of unmarked video tapes in cardboard packaging.

Sanada said: “Yagyuu. I’m giving you two demerits for your part in today’s nonsense. Don’t disgrace the committee again.”

It was a lenient punishment, just enough to satisfy the demands of justice without affecting Yagyuu’s good standing with the teachers. He should have been grateful, but was too concerned with checking Niou for bruises, broken bones, painful movements. “Are you hurt?”

“He didn’t hit me.” Niou placed the stack of videos he was holding on a table, and shot a baleful look at Sanada, who looked unimpressed. “These are tapes of our expected opponents at the Nationals. He asked me to analyse the data and submit a report to our strategist.”

“I've told Renji to expect it completed by tomorrow evening.” Sanada opened a cupboard and was searching for something inside, probably completing what he’d come here to do before they’d interrupted him. “You may leave now.”

Yagyuu touched Niou’s shoulder when they were well out of the vice-captain’s sight. “I think Yukimura is going through a difficult time,” he said, watching his partner’s face carefully. Niou kept his gaze fixed ahead, expressionless. “You’re worried about him, aren’t you, Niou-kun?”

There was no reply. Yagyuu kept looking at Niou’s face and thought about how, because he was not Yukimura but Yagyuu Hiroshi, because he was the one who knew Niou Masaharu best, he could estimate with reasonable confidence the thoughts running through Niou’s mind. Thoughts like, perhaps, _that’s Sanada for you. Indefatigable bastard._ Like, _the plan screwed up. Why? Must re-evaluate when I get home._ Like, _I cannot be what Yukimura wants, ever, ever, ever._

But they were only estimates. What really went on in Niou-kun’s head was anyone’s best guess.

Yagyuu rather liked unsolvable mysteries.

“A doubles strategy for Kirihara-kun, perhaps,” he suggested, as they continued to walk in stride. “Not quite as entertaining as physical assault, but it will make them happier.”

Niou had the video tapes tucked beneath one arm, and was dragging the baseball bat along the ground. He raised it now, and flung it into the air; it flew in a long arc, hit a grassy slope, and rolled down towards the soccer field. Neither of them made an attempt to retrieve it.

“Okay,” he said.

  
END


End file.
